


The More I Know You

by lilidelafield



Series: WHAT If? Challenge [7]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: what if Challenge..What if April and Illya were partners, Napoleon and Mark best buds and partners.April has been having trouble finding a partner, and a certain Russian has been having the same problem. What will happen when Waverly puts them together? Will they be compatible?





	1. Chapter 1

** What if ** **April and Illya were partners, Napoleon and Mark best buds and partners.**

**THE MORE I KNOW YOU**

It had seemed to April as though she had been waiting forever. She had been through one temporary partner after another; agents on temporary transfer, or whose own partners were on leave. She suspected though, that the truth of the matter was that despite Mister Waverly’s high praise of her abilities and her intelligence, he had been having difficulty finding a partner for her that firstly, would be a good fit, and secondly, was willing to be partnered with a girl.

When he called her into his office and told her that her permanent partnership had been decided and finalized, she had been both delighted and apprehensive. Then he revealed her new partner’s identity, and her heart had done a double flip.

Illya Nikovitch Kuryakin.

He had already spoken to Mister Kuryakin it seemed, because the Russian had had to rush away to a meeting in lieu of Mister Solo whom was still away on assignment with his partner. She had had a secret crush on Kuryakin since the first moment she had laid eyes on him, and knowing her place and her role, had been severe with herself for acting like a schoolgirl. The upshot was that on the few occasions their paths had crossed, she had been brisk with him. Not that he had noticed.

Kuryakin had been, like herself, floating around the New York office for over a year, unable to find and keep a partner. He excelled at everything he did, and many of those whom had fallen by the wayside had done so because they had simply been unable to keep up.

Then there was the man’s personality. He might have a great sense of humour or an engaging laugh, but if so, April had seen no sign of it.

He remained straight-faced and slightly dour-looking all the time, especially when he was concentrating on his work; and no one had ever reported being in a position to see him in a relaxed atmosphere. None of the girls at HQ had succeeded in getting a date with him, even though they would all have given a months’ pay for the opportunity.

Only one man at HQ had seemed to have any success in penetrating the frosty Russian’s protective shell, and that was Illya’s immediate superior, the CEA Napoleon Solo.

As Illya was the Number 2 operative, he was the one who took over the running of section two when Slate and Solo were away on assignment, or on sick-leave; and therefore, he and Napoleon were frequently in conference together, sharing information and making plans on deployments.

April was not alone in believing that had Waverly chosen to partner Solo with the Russian, they would have got on, as they say, like a house on fire. But in the end, Slate was the one chosen, and he and Napoleon were thick as thieves together. She had simply hoped that she and Illya would get on okay, and be able to cooperate. She had not had much more hope than that at first, because she had been as much in awe of him as everyone else.

Little had she known!

She recalled their first day as official partners in every single detail. After returning to HQ following his meeting, Illya had approached her table in the commissary, and removing those awful dark glasses he always wore, asked her if he could sit.

_“Of course, Mister Kuryakin. You’re very welcome.”_

_He smiled a shy little smile…she had seen that smile only once before. He dumped his tray on the table and sat down._

_“Mister Waverly has informed me that you and I are to become partners. He says that we would be a good fit.” He looked up shyly at her and the smile briefly returned. “I am inclined to agree with him.”_

_April was surprised._

_“Really? That’s great! I mean…” suddenly unsure if she had given herself away, she turned pink and cleared her throat._

_“It would seem to make sense. We both seemed doomed to working alone. The scary Russian and the Girl. It makes sense to put us together.”_

_Illya choked on his soup and had to take a drink of water._

_“What was that you called me?_ Scary _Russian?”_

_He was actually chuckling appreciatively at the thought of being called scary. April was watching, and somehow the only thought going through her mind was how pretty he looked, when he smiled or laughed._

_“Does everybody see me that way Miss Dancer, or are you the only one?”_

_April couldn’t help but smile back._

_“I don’t know about all…but I would say most people see you that way. If we are now partners, by the way, you had better call me April.”_

_“Illya. Do_ you _think I am scary, partner?”_

_“Are you going to eat that dinner before it gets cold?”_

_“It is a salad. It is supposed to be cold._ Do _you think I am scary?”_

_“Well, eat it before it gets warm then.”_

_“_ I am _eating it. Why won’t you answer my question?”_

_She grinned at him, suddenly seeing him in a new light._

_“When you know me well, you will have your answer. I would like to ask you one question though.”_

_He looked up at the serious tone of voice, and nodded thoughtfully._

_“You are wondering why I did not object to being partnered with you, being as you are female, correct?”_

_“Bingo.”_

_“I have observed you in action in the gym, in the firing range, and on occasion, in the field. Also, as deputy CEA, I get to see the mission reports, and sign off on them whenever Mister Solo is unavailable. In fact, I have on occasion been asked to complete his paperwork for him…I have had the chance to read some of your reports. You are a very good agent and one would be a fool to refuse to partner you based on your gender.”_

_April nodded, unsure what to say. It all sounded so very precise and clinical. Very much the scientific appraisal she had half come to expect from Agent Kuryakin. Then, he floored her with his next remark, so offhand, almost casual;_

_“Also, I like you.”_

 

And so, they had begun working missions together. As she got to know him, she realized how little everyone else knew the real man behind the frosty façade. On the surface, certainly, he was the fearsome, awe-inspiring agent that managed to intimidate most of the staff at HQ, an expert at hand to hand combat with a veritable mouthful of languages; but she learned he was so much more than that.

She had observed her partner’s anger over the injustice they encountered, watched him tenderly pick up a weeping child with the gentleness of a loving father, and spend a long hour comforting him until the mother had been found.

When she was scratched by a stray THRUSH bullet, his gentleness in binding up her wound and attention to detail showed his concern without his having to say a word; and when she wept at the senseless murder of the innocent wife of a THRUSH captain, she had been comforted by her partner, who hugged her until she stopped trembling, and whose quick, slightly shaky breaths in her ear gave away his own distress.

No, the scary Russian was all on the surface. She suspected even Napoleon Solo did not see what only she was privileged to see. The man beneath the mask. The kind, caring and surprisingly vulnerable Illya that he kept carefully hidden from everyone but her.

Within a few weeks, Illya had learned her entire life story from the day she was born, and had even met some of her immediate family members.

She, on the other hand, had learned very little about his background. He revealed the odd tidbit now and then, but these atomic particles of information served rather to intensify and feed her interest and curiosity rather than satisfy it. Curiously, though, she found that she did not resent his reticence. The little she _had_ gleaned had been enough to make her realize that his refusal to talk about his past had more to do with survival than secrecy or privacy.

Their being male and female made undercover operations a cinch in comparison to some partnerships. Being able to pose as a married couple, honeymooners, siblings or colleagues, boss and secretary; the possibilities they found were almost endless.

Celebrating the anniversary of the first month of their very successful partnership, they found themselves deciding to celebrate in privacy. Illya had grinned at her.

          “A celebratory dinner is a good idea April, but for a change, allow _me_ to cook for you.”

A delighted grin caught the edge of her mouth before she managed to suppress it.

          “You can cook!?”

          “April, a man such as I who enjoys his food could not be truly happy if he could not cook!”

          “Sorry, it’s just I never imagined you wearing an apron! Thanks partner, that would be great. I’ll bring the wine…and vodka!”

She had been interested to see what sort of apartment he lived in. She had seen the inside of Napoleon’s apartment during a dinner-party, and the by-word had been _luxurious._

Mark Slate’s apartment was comfortable and practical, clearly designed by someone who intended to spend as little time as possible cooking and cleaning. Would Illya veer towards the luxurious? Surely not. Practicality then, like Mark’s place?

To her surprise, she found Illya’s apartment was simple and elegant. He had few soft furnishings. Carpets made way for stone tiles. The walls were painted light green, the windows screened by black blinds, but no curtains. No sofa, but two black leather armchairs sat either side of a long haired, very fluffy thick white rug with a comfortable looking black and white cat curled up asleep on it, before an open fireplace that had been redesigned to hold nothing more than a vase of flowers. The mantel held a brass Russian Samovar teapot with an ebony handle, with two matching stacking cups beside it, and a photograph of a handsome dark haired young woman with a two year old child in her arms, a little boy with white-blond hair and startlingly blue eyes.

The room was otherwise empty, save for a black stained wooden dinner table with two chairs, and two large bulky looking cases that were obviously musical instruments. April could not guess what they could have been.

His kitchen was rather sparse. Little in the way of gadgets or conveniences, but his oven was clearly brand new.

He cooked for her a number of Russian dishes, and watched with a knowing grin as she tentatively, then enthusiastically tried each one. When they had finished, they sat in the armchairs, drinks in hand. April gestured to the photo on the mantel.

          “Illya, can I ask…who are they in the photograph?”

Illya picked it up briefly, and smiled down longingly at the picture.

          “Sorry my friend…I am not ready to talk about them just yet. People I…”

April watched in sympathy as he swallowed something, then replaced the picture. She refrained from apologizing for her question, knowing that would only make him feel more uncomfortable, and her attention was drawn once again to the two bulky cases in the corner of the room.

          “Illya, I have been staring at those cases all evening and I have to ask... _what are they_?”

          “The larger one is a cello, the other is my grandfather’s balalaika.”

          “You play?”

At his nod, she looked impressed.

          “You know Illya, you hide so much of yourself at headquarters. If everyone knew you as I have come to know you…”

          “…my life would become more complicated.”

          “And yet you were surprised when you learned that people think you are scary.”

He grinned.

          “Well, I have never thought about it. I’ve never tried to be scary or intimidating. It’s just me. Now, are you going to answer _my_ question, partner, and tell me whether you too believed that I was scary?”

April burst out laughing.

          “Are you still thinking about that? What does that amazingly bright brain of yours surmise?”

          “I think you were.” Illya replied with a grin. “I think that is why you were always snappy with me before we were partnered. It wasn’t snappiness. You were nervous.”

          “Oh no, that was…” April began and stopped herself before she said too much. She caught Illya’s astonished eye on her and groaned. She could see the light of illumination hit him as clearly as though switching on a light.

          “April…tell me the truth!”

          “No.”

          “You promised to always tell the truth to your partner. That is me, in case you have forgotten.”

          “No!”

          “April, if you don’t tell, I will tickle you until you scream for mercy!”

          “Try it Kuryakin, and see who loses!”

          “You will. I’m not ticklish.”

April grinned impishly.

          “ _I_ think you are. We’ll soon see, won’t we?”

As the sun went down, April Dancer and her partner Illya Kuryakin engaged in the first of what would, over the years, become a running battle for supremacy…which of them would be the first to scream for mercy in a barrage of tickling…


	2. PARTNERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what if Challenge..What if April and Illya were partners, Napoleon and Mark best buds and partners- Part two.
> 
>  
> 
> Napoleon Solo's partner, Mark Slate briefly reviews his life as the partner of the CEA.

PARTNERS

No way will I ever forget what happened that day. No, I cannot tell you. It isn’t a secret; it’s just that my way of putting things behind me is to try and forget them. I am afraid that precludes constantly talking about it and reminiscing, prompting people to shower me with their sympathy. It is kind of them, but receiving sympathy simply makes me remember even more the events that prompted the reaction. To me that inhibits the healing process. I prefer to simply forget, and pretend that I am completely normal.

All right, we are shaped by our past, but I believe we are also shaped by our present. The more people treat me as completely normal, the more I am likely to become so. Having a partner as good as mine has made that particular process so much more painless.

A good partner will be willing to listen if you need to talk, will not expect you to talk if for some reason, you cannot. They will do all in their power to help you if you need it but without any judgment. My partner has been an absolute lifesaver at times, especially when some of the bad memories return. He comes across sometimes as a little glib, wisecracking, is that the term people use here in America? But Napoleon is a serious, deeply caring person, who is dedicated to his role at UNCLE. Not just that, he is dedicated to the welfare of his partner, namely; me.

I was very surprised to find that I was paired up with the CEA to be honest. I expected the Russian to get partnered with Solo. They are friends after all. They were friends from the first moment Illya walked inside the building. Napoleon held out a hand and warmly welcomed him when there were some who would otherwise have given the newcomer a rather frosty welcome. Many of us expected them to be partnered, but in the end, Illya Kuryakin was put with April Dancer. The first and so far, the only female field operative. As I can gather, they get on really well together too.

April told me the other day how different her partner is in private than in public. To everyone else he is `the scary Russian’, but to April he is as devoted a partner as Napoleon is to me. She says he is kind and attentive, thoughtful but not in any way condescending. She says he treats her in every way as an equal; something which I know for a fact that she had been a little worried about. Yes, on the whole I think that both April and I have fallen on our feet. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin are the two top operatives in this place. The CEA and the deputy CEA.

I can see Mister Waverly putting the four of us together sometime soon when an appropriate case comes up that will use four operatives. We are all so close in types and approaches to our work, despite our vastly different backgrounds, that we could all switch partners, and everything would still all work out well, I think. Perhaps Napoleon and April? Nah…I think I was right the first time. The likely successful change in that other universe would have been a Solo/Kuryakin partnership, and a Slate (that’s me if you hadn’t guessed) and April partnership.

Still, Napoleon is my best mate, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. The first time he caught me cowering under a thick blanket with a pair of headphones (that were incidentally, not attached to anything), he was rather worried. He was wondering how a grown man could react like a young child at the sound of a little thunder. I reminded him that I had grown up in London during the blitz, and his active imagination told him the rest without my having to be more explicit. Now, he always tries to make sure that whenever a storm is due, we are busy doing something that is guaranteed to divert my attention from the noise. He has tried just about everything I think, from women to tiddlywinks.

I suppose we all have our weaknesses. I can only think of one weakness possessed by my partner; women of course. My weakness is my memories of the blitz, hiding in the bomb shelter with mum, the noise carrying on overhead. I will never forget the sound when the bomb hit our house, and the combined strength of all of us there in the shelter to get the door open afterwards, as it had been wedged closed by a pile of fallen masonry and timber. There I go, I said I wouldn’t talk about it. That’s me, a typical Brit, just yacking.

Anyway, getting back to the point, my partnership with Napoleon is about the best thing that has happened to me. After I got hurt the other day, the first time I had ever woken up in medical, I found my partner sitting, bleary-eyed in the hard-plastic chair by my bedside, watching me. His grin of delight when he saw I was awake was so warm that at first I couldn’t quite believe that it was intended for me, but it was. During the nine hours that I had spent apparently unconscious, he had refused to leave my side, even becoming defensive and angry when the duty nurse tried to make him leave me. That is, I think, what I treasure about our partnership more than anything else. The fact that I know that I can rely on Napoleon completely to be there for me whatever happens, just as he knows I am there for him.

The only thing we ever argue about is the driving. Both of us like to be the one to drive. In terms of skills, neither is any better than the other, but I have always said, I will say it again, that Napoleon Solo, however excellent an agent he may be, has absolutely _no_ sense of direction…and his map reading skills are pathetic for a grown man. Whenever he is driving, we almost always end up getting lost. I have tried giving him directions, but he ignores me and goes his own way…so I have vowed that the only time I will ever let him drive me anywhere is when I am unconscious! At first, he did try to pull rank on me over it, reminding me that my sense of direction is no better than his own.

Alright, I admit it. I only know east is east by looking at the sun every morning, but at least I can read a map.

As the partner of Napoleon Solo I have been shot at, captured, beaten, locked up and tortured by THRUSH, I have been driven out of my hotel room by my amorous partner and made to sleep in hotel lounges, twice in the car and once in a bathtub. I have also been lost and hungry thanks to his lack of map-reading skills, but I have also had the most exciting life, and the very best friend I could have ever known.

Napoleon Solo.


End file.
